observed Mrs. Yorke: "how precociously wise in their own conceits! 'I would rather this—I prefer that;' such is Jessie's cuckoo-song: while Rose utters the bolder cry, 'I will, and I will not!'"
"I render a reason, mother: besides, if my cry is bold, it is only heard once in a twelvemonth. About each birthday, the spirit moves me to deliver one oracle respecting my own instruction and management: I utter it and leave it; it is for you, mother, to listen or not."
"I would advise all young ladies," pursued Mrs. Yorke, "to study the characters of such children as they chance to meet with before they marry, and have any of their own; to consider well how they would like the responsibility of guiding the careless, the labour of persuading the stubborn, the constant burden and task of training the best."
"But with love it need not be so very difficult," interposed Caroline. "Mothers love their children most dearly—almost better than they love themselves."
"Fine talk! Very sentimental! There is the rough, practical part of life yet to come for you, young Miss!"
"But, Mrs. Yorke, if I take a little baby into my arms—any poor woman's infant for instance,—I feel that I love that helpless thing quite peculiarly, though I am not its mother. I could do almost
